


Into the Web

by ANGSWIN



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. References, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Relationship, Sherlock: Post-Season/Series 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 03:04:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15787653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANGSWIN/pseuds/ANGSWIN
Summary: Life gets a lot more interesting for Sherlock Holmes when the Black Widow comes to him for assistance with a missing person's case.Written for the Marvel Cinematic Crossover Exchange





	1. Enter the Spider

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xxDustNight88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxDustNight88/gifts).



> [](https://postimages.org/)  
> 

The detective entered 221B and climbed the stairs to the upper level flat.  As soon he as entered the door, though, he paused.  After just a moment, he continued to casually remove his scarf and coat as he spoke in clipped tones to the shadows on the other side of the room.

“Professional assassin…semi-retired, but you like to keep your skills sharp…retained on an official basis, though, not freelance...not anymore at least.  However, you are not here in your official capacity tonight. Therefore, you require my assistance on something that will probably require more brainwork than deadly force.  Would you care for some tea?”

The shadows flickered briefly and a strong female voice sounded clearly in the empty room.

“How do you know that I’m not here to kill you?”

“If that was the case, then I would have been dead the moment I opened the door.  You are not the only assassin I have ever met, you know…not even the first today.  In fact, I had a family luncheon with one this afternoon…mainly because her husband insisted on it.” He paused and sighed heavily.  “Friendship apparently comes with certain… _obligations.”_

A sound of amusement emanated from the darkness and the voice spoke again. “Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Holmes…and now I can see that my intel on you was quite accurate indeed.  I’ve come to the right place…and to the right man.”  With these words, the shadows moved, the lamp was clicked on, and a fiery redhead in a form-fitting black jumpsuit was revealed.  “And yes…I would love some tea.”

* * *

Sherlock sat quietly in the darkness after his unexpected guest had gone to bed.  She had resisted the suggestion of rest, of course - even though hard travel and deep undercover work with no backup had obviously taken its toll on her.  However, Sherlock explained that they would put out feelers in the morning when his network of Baker Street Irregulars resurfaced from their various hiding places - and that there was nothing to be done until then.  When she had reluctantly agreed, via a discreet sleeping powder he had slipped into her tea when he refilled her cup, he then pointed her in the direction of John’s old bedroom at the top of the stairs.  He knew that she would appreciate its easily defensible position, in case of trouble.  Not that he was expecting any…but he had also not been expecting  _her,_  either.

He had not exactly told the truth when he said that there was nothing to be done until the morning.  What he really meant was that there was nothing that anyone else could do  _but him_.  Therefore, while she slept, Sherlock combed through the extensive collection of mentally filed information in his Mind Palace looking for connections and answers.  Meanwhile, the part of his brain that was not actively poring over the problem, replayed the conversation that he and his guest had shared earlier over tea.

“I know all about the obligations of friendship,” she had explained.  “In fact, my best friend, Clint, always wants me to spend time on his family farm.  Do I look like a farm girl to you, Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock’s eyes skimmed over her tight outfit.  He was not blind, so he noted her alluring feminine curves.  However, he found both the telltale and the discreet weapon bulges located all over her person much more interesting.  Overall, her style was very suitable for combat situations, but not so much for rural life.  “Not at all,” he agreed mildly as he continued to drink his tea.

“Yet, I go there anyway,” she continued with a sigh.  “At any rate, friendship is why I am here now, as well.  Clint needs for me to pass on a message to another friend of ours.... one who has been  _purposely_ missing for some time now.  One who felt the need to…and I am sure that you can appreciate this, Mr. Holmes…disappear for a while.  He normally moves around a lot to stay off of the radar.  Unfortunately, he has disappeared a little _too_ well this time.  We were able to trace him to London…but no farther…and that’s where I hope that  _you_  can help.  This is your home turf, after all.” 

Sherlock considered her words carefully – especially her reference to himself.  “I take it that we are looking for a person who is  _mistakenly_  no longer considered to be among the living?” he asked and she reluctantly nodded her head in agreement.

“It  _needs_  to stay that way, Mr. Holmes,” she emphasized.

He nodded his understanding - especially since he knew very well that there were many advantages to being considered dead by most of the world. "And the message?" he asked.

"It's urgent family business," she responded vaguely.  Sherlock just shrugged at that.  He did not really need to know all of the details to realize that this was already an unusual and fascinating case.

“One last thing,” he replied.  “You should know that I know exactly who you are: Natasha Romanoff…aka the Black Widow.  In fact, you have been quite the thorn in my brother’s side more than a few times.  I feel that I must thank you for that, by the way...it’s most entertaining to watch him fume.  He even sent me after you to gather intel once, you know.  However, despite my best efforts, you managed to completely evade me in Kazakhstan.  I have to compliment you for arranging that goat road block at just the right moment, by the way.  It was quite the feat, I assure you…and it even made for an amusing debriefing once I was back in civilization again.”

“Kazakhstan…That was  _you?_ ”  the woman replied and the admiration in her tone was evident.  “You were very good and almost caught me a couple of times, you know.  The goat road block was my last ditch effort to escape…without killing you, that is.  I guess we were both very lucky that it worked, then.  Even though now I realize that I might not have tried so hard if I had known that the famous Sherlock Holmes just wanted to talk to me.”

Even if he was usually better at deflecting such reactions than the average man, Sherlock was almost speechless for a moment when he deduced that the Black Widow was actually flirting with him!  He may not have had much use for sentiment, but the right kind of woman - brilliant, cunning, and tough - could still distract him.  It was becoming more and more clear to him that she was _exactly_ that kind of woman.  However, her reputation was also implicit within her very code name itself:  Black Widow.  She knew exactly how to get men to do what she wanted them to do...and then discarded them...in one way or the other.  Sherlock had no desire to become her next victim.  Therefore, he quickly composed himself before she could detect the change and plowed on with the conversation.  “However, despite all of that, you are now a legitimate Avenger.  Consequently, I am left to wonder why you would come to me for assistance when you have powerful friends out there who are in a much better position to help you?”

“When you put it like that, it does sound strange,” she explained.  “However, since the person in question is technically dead…and is subsequently off of the map completely…this cannot become an official mission.  In fact, the Avengers can’t be associated with it in any way.  Half of them…including Clint…are still in hiding after the prison break at the Raft..."  Here she had to pause and laugh at the sudden glint of interest that appeared in the detective’s eyes.

"The Raft?" he asked curiously.

"A secret underwater prison," she explained...as if it should have been obvious.

"Fascinating!" was Sherlock's only response as he set his tea cup down and leaned forward in an obvious show of interest to learn more. Therefore, the woman launched seamlessly back into her story.

“…and the other half have their hands tied now because of the Sokovia Accords.  Even though I know that  _all_ of them would help us – despite our disagreements - they are watched carefully and now have to account for their actions to people who do not even know of the continued existence of the person we are looking for.  Technically, that should include me, as well.  However, I am on the books as being on vacation right now...so I have a little bit more wiggle room than the rest.”

“The Sokovia Accords?” Sherlock needed clarification.  The name sounded familiar but he must have deleted the memory as unimportant since he could not seem to pull up any mental details.  All he could manage to remember was the image of a city hovering in the sky...and that the Avengers had been there, as well.

She nodded, “It puts the entire Avengers team, and well as any other registered enhanced or powered person, under the control and regulation of the United Nations.”

Sherlock made a sound of disgust at that.  “Being at the beck and call of  _the_ British government is bad enough!” he exclaimed.  “I can’t imagine the horror of having the entire UN in my business and telling me what I can and cannot do."  He snorted.  "Never mind…I can imagine it…and I think that you would have been better off staying on the wrong side of the law as a freelance assassin!”

Natasha spread her hands out in a sign of resignation.  “It is what it is,” she said pragmatically.

Sherlock looked at her closely before he nodded his head in understanding.  “Alright then…tell me everything that you know about this person’s last whereabouts,” he prompted.  He then sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers together in front of his lips.  It was his go-to thinking position, plus a sign that he had decided to take the case...and that he was now completely invested in the outcome.

 


	2. Spinning the Web

 The next morning Sherlock was dragged from a state of semi-consciousness while still sitting upright in his chair when that particular piece of furniture was unceremoniously kicked out from under him.  A heavy booted foot was also placed on his torso as soon as he hit the floor.

“You drugged me!” came the accusation from the infuriated redhead standing above him.

“No,” he replied calmly, as though they were just having a friendly little chat and that he was not in danger of having his breastbone crushed.  “I simply precipitated your rest with a basic remedy that I nicked from John’s medical bag.  You were obviously exhausted and would have been of no use to the mission today without sleep.  Therefore, I… _intervened.”_

Natasha glared at him for another moment before she realized that she could not refute any part of that statement.  “Never do that again!” she growled in frustration, but she did remove her boot from his chest and allowed him to sit up.  “Do you normally steal from your friends?” she asked as she also offered him a hand up from the floor.

“Only when they have something I want,” he answered honestly as he accepted her help, stood up, and smoothed down his clothing in a nonchalant manner that made her laugh in spite of her anger.

“Life is certainly not boring around here, is it?” she inquired in a calmer tone.

“I do endeavor for it to be otherwise,” he replied…and the small quirk of his lips spoke volumes.  It was a look that she could not resist returning – especially when she realized that Sherlock Holmes could be quite devious...as well as _very_ attractive when he smiled.  

* * *

By lunchtime, they had received what they judged to be reliable information from Sherlock’s unorthodox intelligence network…and they were preparing to get on the move when a little hiccup to their plans unexpectedly appeared at 221B.

John had stopped by with some milk because he knew that Sherlock seemed completely incapable of keeping the basic staple item stocked in his fridge.  In fact, his former flatmate would go so far as to actually text John  _every single time_  to complain about not having any, rather than expend the energy to walk down to the corner market and purchase some himself.  Consequently, John had decided to circumnavigate all of that unnecessary stress by simply dropping off a container whenever he came over to visit, even though he knew that was probably Sherlock's intention all along.  On this occasion, however, he was stunned when he walked into the flat only to discover Sherlock and a gorgeous redhead sorting through a small arsenal of weaponry on the kitchen table.

“Sherlock…” John asked hesitantly.  “What’s going on here?”

Sherlock looked up from the gun and knife that he was holding and grinned cheerfully at his friend.  “Nothing at all to worry about, John.  We are just working on a case!”  He gestured at the pile of deadly items in front of them before referring back to the woman next to him.  “Can you believe that Ms. Romanoff here keeps all of these on her person…all at the same time!   Plus, I am positive that she has some still hidden on her about which she has not seen fit to inform me.”  The devious smirk that the attractive woman then directed at the detective seemed to confirm that hypothesis.

John stood there, still holding the container of milk in a bit of shock.  He did not know what to be concerned about the most: the sheer amount of weapons that were displayed in front of him, the presence of the woman who obviously used them frequently and efficiently, and/or the fact that Sherlock seemed to be genuinely excited about all of it!

“Oh, so you’re John,” the woman finally spoke, and the soldier in him stood to attention and watched as she laid the knife back down after she had surreptitiously picked it up off of the table upon on his arrival.  She assessed him for a moment before observing drily, “I thought that you would be taller – especially since you are married to an assassin.”

“What?” John exclaimed incredulously at the references to both his height and his wife.  “What have you been telling her, Sherlock?” He turned to glare at his friend.  “Exactly how long have you even known this woman anyway?”

“Relax, John,” Sherlock replied unconcernedly while his attention was still focused on the table.  “She knows about Mary's profession since they were in the same line of work.  As for us, we only officially met last night.  However, I have known her by reputation for far longer than that…”  Here he paused as he finally looked up again and smirked before he continued, “…as have you.  Look carefully at her, John!  Try not to let your base male inclinations distract your brain and you will also be able to recognize her.” 

John tried greatly to ignore the part about his “inclinations,” (which turned out to be difficult because the woman’s form-fitting jumpsuit really did emphasize her figure in all of the right places).  However, he reminded himself that he had a beautiful pregnant wife at home and thus was able to move past any inappropriate thoughts.  He then looked at her closer while she stood with folded arms and watched him with trained eyes that gave no clues as to her thoughts or emotions. However, the imposing pose brought her identity to his mind almost immediately. 

“Oh my!”  John suddenly staggered back with surprise.  “You’re the Black Widow.  You’re an Avenger!”

“Very good, John!” Sherlock exclaimed proudly, as if he were speaking to a trained dog who had just performed a difficult trick. 

John was too used to the man’s ways to be insulted by his tone, however.  Therefore, he ignored him completely and focused on the woman instead.  “If you are with the Avengers, though, then why do you need Sherlock’s help?”  he asked, genuinely confused.

“It’s an unofficial case, John…obviously,” Sherlock pointed out with his usual brand of condescension and exasperation when the woman did not answer.  “In fact, we must leave now before our lead runs cold.”

“Um…do you want me to come with you?” John asked uncertainly as he looked between Sherlock and the woman who had turned back to the table and was calmly rearming herself.

“That won’t be necessary.  Ms. Romanoff and I have the situation completely under control.”  Sherlock answered as he selected and held up a pistol for the woman’s inspection.  At her nod of approval, he slipped it into the pocket of his own coat.  “In fact,” he said, turning towards John again, “go home.  See to your wife and impending child.  I will let you know when I have returned.”  John made a face at such an obvious dismissal as an unexpected jolt of jealousy shot through him at the thought that he had been replaced...and by someone who was much better looking than he was!  This feeling was interrupted, however, when Sherlock spoke again.   “And John…one more thing…you haven’t seen me at all today – especially if you are asked by my brother.  I know that I can trust you completely to leave him out of this matter.”

John understood the implication.  Those words meant that Sherlock’s case dealt with something that Mycroft either should not or could not be associated.  It was his subtle way of protecting his older brother.  Sherlock was like that.  Even though he did not often engage in outward displays of affection and emotion, he always took care of those who were important to him.  Consequently, John pushed his negative feelings aside, put the milk in the refrigerator next to a bowl of something disgusting that he did not even want to try and identify, and then clasped his best friend on the shoulder.  “Be careful, Sherlock!” he commanded softly before he nodded at the woman and exited the flat.

“He’s the emotional sort,” Sherlock said by way of explanation, “but he means well.”

His guest nodded thoughtfully as she slipped a final knife into her boot.  “Clint is the same way,” she replied and then shrugged in a  _Friends…can’t live with them…can’t destroy them completely_  kind of gesture.  Then, after a glance at the table to confirm that it was empty, she looked back at the detective.  “Ready?” she asked.  The gleam of anticipation in his eyes was all the answer that she needed.


	3. Trapping the Prey

Once they had reached the underground den where his network's lead had taken them, Sherlock could not help but to be impressed as he watched the Black Widow in action.  In fact, after he helped her put the guards out of commission for the time being, he just stood back and watched her deal with their leader.  Every kick and punch from her was like watching art in motion…and Sherlock found himself mesmerized by the experience.

It took some painful convincing, but soon the man was thrown up against a wall with his arms pinned behind him while the woman hissed in his ear.  “Look, you know who I am.  We are on the same side here.  I don’t want to hurt you…and I don’t want to hurt him, either.  I appreciate your protectiveness on his behalf, but I am  _only_  here to deliver a message.  Therefore, I am going to ask you one more time.  Where…is…he?”

After the safe house’s location was reluctantly divulged and off-hand apologies were issued for their overenthusiastic methods of information-gathering, the detective and the Avenger were on their way.

“You know…you handled yourself well in there, Mr. Holmes,” she commented casually as she looked over at him from behind the wheel of the car that they had rented.  He had booked it under one of his many pseudonyms since they were trying to keep a low profile.  However, she had insisted on driving because she liked being the one in control…as well as the fact that she realized she had slept much more than he had the night before.  Of course, that was his fault, as well, but she had already forgiven him for the incident since she understood that his heart had been in the right place.  Nevertheless, no matter how much she was beginning to like the detective, if he drugged her again then she would make sure his heart ended up in a completely different place…such as one where he could actually see it with his own two eyes…however brief such an experience might be for him!

“No need to sound so surprised, Ms. Romanoff,” he huffed, not realizing the violent path that her thoughts had taken.  However, he seemed pleased by her compliment...even if he elected not to show it. 

“Call me Natasha,” she insisted, knowing that since they had fought side by side, he had earned that privilege.  “And I wasn’t so much surprised by your skill as I was by your style.  That was Bartitsu, wasn’t it?” she asked curiously, intrigued again by the man who would choose such an idiosyncratic fighting form.

“Quite!” he answered, impressed that she had recognized the more subtle, and distinctly British, style of mixed martial arts that he favored over some of the more flashier versions – such as what she used herself.  The fact that her execution of it had been delightful to watch was completely irrelevant.  “You were impressive, as well…Natasha,” he allowed himself to admit, however.  She found that she really liked the way her name sounded as it rolled off of his tongue in his posh British accent...and she could not help but to smile when he continued his thought.  “...and I suppose that for expediency’s sake, you should call me Sherlock, as well.”

“Thank you.  I’ll do that…Sherlock,” she promised, and then it was his turn to smile.

* * *

It was already quite late at night by the time that they rolled into the driveway at the isolated and unassuming little cottage in the English countryside.

“We can safely assume that he already knows we are here,” Natasha pointed out, even though no lights were visible in the windows.  “I’ll go first, then.  If he sees me…and recognizes me…then we should be fine.  However, it’s dark.  Therefore, if he doesn’t recognize me…or if he sees you first…all bets are off and we need to be prepared to defend ourselves," she gave him a significant look before adding, "Also, watch out for booby traps.” 

“He’s the suspicious type?” Sherlock asked.

Natasha nodded.  “With good reason,” she answered seriously as she prepared to leave the car.

“Wait!”  Sherlock’s hand shot out and caught her arm.  The contact surprised them both for a moment, but Sherlock forged ahead anyway.  “Have you considered that this might be a trap?” he asked.  “That your friend might not be in there, at all?” 

“Of course I have, Sherlock.  That’s my job!  That’s why I am going first.  This kind of scenario is my specialty, after all.  I am going to need you to watch my six, though, so hold your pistol at the ready.  If necessary, only shoot to wound...not to kill…understand?”  When Sherlock nodded, she grinned at him cheerfully.  “Good!” she exclaimed as she leaned forward to give him a quick kiss on the lips.  “Thank you, though” she whispered before she pulled away completely.  Then, before he could even blink in surprise, she was out of the car and halfway to the house.  Sherlock found that he could barely contain his own grin as he followed close behind.  That woman was certainly not one of Mycroft’s goldfish, and he knew that she did not really need his backup.  However, he was still going to do everything that he could to help protect her!

 After they found, sidestepped, and/or dismantled three separate intricate traps, the twosome finally reached their destination: the porch!  Once they arrived, Natasha strode to the front door and stood there in full view as she loudly proclaimed,  “You’re a hard man to find, but I have an important message for you.”

After a moment, they heard a muffled curse, and the front door was yanked open.  By the light of the porch, Sherlock could see the large, imposing, and dark-skinned man who stood there.  He wore an eyepatch and Sherlock could see the scars emanating from it.  However, it was the way he held himself that gave away his identity.  _He's the leader,_ Sherlock deduced. 

"What the hell are you doing here, Romanoff?" the man demanded.  He spoke only to the woman, but his eye raked over both of the people in front of him.

"It's nice to see you too, Fury," she answered, completely unfazed by the man's attitude as she stepped past him and entered the house.

"Remember exactly to whom you're speaking, Agent," he all but growled as he followed her into the cottage - and continued to ignore Sherlock's existence.  Consequently, the detective stood poised, ready to act, as he assessed the scene and the players.  As far as he could tell, though, there did not seem to be an immediate threat - even though the man was obviously not happy with their presence.

The man's displeasure did not seem to bother his companion, however.  "Respectfully, Sir,” Natasha answered lightly as she walked around and inspected the contents of the room that they were in.  “I'm not really an agent anymore...and you don’t actually outrank anyone right now, either.  However, that's mainly because you are dead!" It was only then that she allowed herself to stop and smile up into his stony face.

"Oh yeah!  Sometimes I forget about that," the man replied in a lighter tone than the one he had used earlier.  The icy demeanor visibly thawed, the stone cracked, and he actually smirked in response before he spoke again.  "At any rate, what brings you and your boyfriend here?  Who is he, exactly, anyway?"

Natasha just ignored the boyfriend reference, but still smiled slightly, as she introduced them.  “This is Sherlock Holmes,” she said simply.  “He helped me to find you.”  She then turned back towards Sherlock.  “This is Nick Fury, the former director of SHIELD and the man who authorized the initial Avengers team.”

Nick Fury was a name that he recognized and Sherlock found that he was a bit impressed in spite of himself.  Therefore, he was not surprised by the obvious assessment being conducted on him by one dark eye.  “So you’re Sherlock Holmes…the detective,” the owner of that eye stated.  Sherlock simply inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement and the man continued.  “I know your brother…and have even worked with him a few times in London.”

“I’m sorry for you, then,” Sherlock replied in his usual deadpan fashion and Fury snorted in laughter.

“Damn straight!  He is an insufferable bureaucrat if ever I met one.  However, he pulled my ass out of the fire a few times, as well…so I guess that he is not all bad.”  Sherlock just shrugged noncommittally, even though he knew that Mycroft did occasionally have his moments.

Fury then turned his attention back to the woman.  “Alright then, since the introductions and small talk are out of the way now, what brings you all of the way out here to England, Black Widow...besides the chance to be a pain in my ass again?"

“As pleasurable as that is," Natasha said with another warm smile that made Sherlock realize that the relationship between the two was actually less antagonistic and much closer than it had originally appeared, "I actually came to deliver a message from Clint.  He wanted me to let you know that he and Laura just had their fourth baby.  It’s a girl.”

Fury looked at her strangely.  “Really...another Barton brat?  That’s good for them, of course…I guess…but…”

Natasha smirked.  Fury could face down a dictator, mad scientist, or angry monster with ease…but babies always made him uneasy.  She found that hilarious and tried not to laugh as she continued.  “That wasn’t the entire message, though.  The real message is from his wife… and I quote, “Tell Fury to get his damn ass over here to meet his goddaughter pronto before I go hunt him down myself and make the number of his testicles match the number of his working eyes!”  She glanced over at Sherlock with amusement written all over her face.  “If you think I’m scary, you should meet a recently-given-birth and sleep-derived Laura Barton!”  She looked back at the other man.  “So what do you say, Fury?”  

A proud smile had spread across the normally fierce man’s face and it was a sight to behold.  “My goddaughter, huh?”

“Yep, her name is Nicole.” ***

“Nicole…That’s a good name,” Nick Fury said as he attempted to sound casual, but Sherlock could practically see his mind do a complete 180 before he turned his attention back to Natasha and spoke in his previous gruff voice again.  “I’m assuming that you have an extraction plan, Romanoff.  I mean, it’s not like I can just hop on a plane at Heathrow and fly back to the States in First Class.”

“Got it covered, Sir.  Coulson and May have agreed to give us a lift.”

“Coulson?” Fury’s one good eye narrowed suspiciously.  “How did you know…?”

“He was my closest friend at SHIELD besides you and Clint, Fury.  Of course, I know that he is not dead!”  She shook her head in disgust.  “I mean, really, who do you think I am?  Tony?”

Fury only glared at her again before he shook his head.  “Alright then, arrange for pickup in the morning.  I’m going to go get some shut-eye.  This place only has one bedroom…and I’m not sharing.  The couch folds out, though.  You and your boyfriend can have that.”  With those words, he turned and strode to the other side of the house, presumably to his own bed.  On his way out of the room, though, he started to shake his head again and Sherlock distinctly heard the man chuckle before saying softly in fond voice, “Well, what do you know…I’m a godfather!”  There was such wonder in his voice that Sherlock knew instinctively that there was more to the man than the tough exterior he displayed...and now that the nature of the urgent message had finally been revealed, he also realized that the same could be said for his redheaded female companion, as well.  He deduced that the deadly Black Widow did not always have to be so deadly...or so black...as she would have people to believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Fun fact: Nicole Barton, the goddaughter of Nick Fury, is an actual canon character in the Marvel Ultimates Earth-1610 comicverse.


	4. A Successful Hunt

After they were left alone, Natasha pulled the couch open to reveal a full-size bed.  “It's...adequate,” she announced with hesitation.  "However, I have certainly slept in worse places...and I am sure that you have, too!"  Then, without waiting for an answer, she took off to make a call to arrange for their transportation the next day...and to find the small cottage’s bathroom.  When she returned, she informed Sherlock that she had found towels and toothbrushes in the cabinet, and had laid some out for his use.  “They are the last ones, but it serves him right for not offering in the first place,” she explained, referring to their reluctant host.

When Sherlock returned back to the main room, he found a very familiar-looking pile of weaponry, along with a hot cup of tea, on the nearby table.  What immediately caught his eye, however, was the fact that Natasha was already reclined on one side of the bed and wore only a man's tshirt instead of her usual jumpsuit.  It obviously belonged to her friend, Fury, and Sherlock felt an unusual stab of _something_  at the thought of her in another man's clothing.  _When did she get that?_  he wondered irritably and purposely avoided looking at her long bare legs as he grabbed the cup of tea.  Even though it was obviously made from a bag, ( _Americans!,_ he thought with a snort of derision) he still welcomed the distraction that the drink offeredas he promptly turned around to head in the opposite direction in order to try and make himself comfortable in the only chair there.

Natasha waited until he had finished the tea before she ordered him into the empty side of the bed.  “Sherlock, you need to sleep."  At his look of reluctance, she laughed. "Don't worry.  I won’t bite, you know.”  She paused and smiled, “Not unless you _really_ want me to, at any rate.”

Sherlock could only stare at her, his normally ordered mind in a sudden unexpected whirl of chaos as he could not get the thought out of his mind that being bitten by her might not be so bad...especially under certain circumstances.

“Bed…now!” the woman insisted firmly, interrupting his confused reverie, and Sherlock remembered that she was a deadly assassin for a reason…plus he was suddenly completely exhausted.  Therefore, he quickly removed his shoes and proceeded to lie down, fully-clothed, on the bed.  He had never been one to worry much about social protocol, so he found that he had no idea how to handle this particular situation.  Normally, he would have let her physical cues guide him.  However, he was feeling increasingly unlike his usual deductive self at the moment.  In fact, his head was practically whirling.  Therefore, in order to hide his consternation, he carefully turned over on his side to face away from her...only to be completely surprised by her next move.

“That’s not so bad now, is it?” she muttered as she curled up to him and draped herself over his back.  She placed one bare knee on his thigh and he shivered a little as she slid her arm around his midsection.  Then Sherlock actually gulped in disbelief when she pressed herself more firmly against him and even wiggled a little bit in the quest to find the most comfortable position.  Even with his powers of observation, he never would have guessed that the deadly Black Widow was a cuddler...or that her closeness would have such an unexpected effect on him - especially when she gave a small sigh of pleasure as her body finally found just the right spot.   In fact, the whirling feeling and confusion only increased in intensity at that moment and he had to close his eyes in order to calm the sensation.  

After just a moment, however, Natasha's breathing evened out and her grip on him loosened slightly. Sherlock realized that she had gone to sleep...and he marveled that she actually already trusted him enough to allow herself to be in such a vulnerable situation in his presence - something that he knew must be as difficult for her as it was for him.  However, she had done it anyway.  That thought filled him with a soft feeling that he could only guess was the dreaded _sentiment_.  However, with her comforting warmth at his back, he decided that he just did not care.  Consequently, he let go and finally gave in to the whirling sensation.  He soon fell into a deep sleep, as well.

* * *

When he awoke, he was alone on the sofa bed.  However, he heard voices coming from nearby, and he wondered why he had not automatically awakened as his body registered the change in environment when Natasha got out of bed.  

“Good morning,  Sleeping Beauty.  How are you feeling?"” the redhead at the table remarked casually as he stood up.  He soon realized why when he noted that his mind was uncharacteristically fuzzy as he staggered into the attached kitchen.  

“You drugged me!” he exclaimed as he suddenly remembered the cup of tea, the uncharacteristic confusion, and the whirling feelings of the night before.  He sat down heavily in the chair between her and Fury and stared at them moodily.

Fury chuckled but Natasha just shrugged.  “You needed to sleep,” she stated unapologetically as she poured him out a cup of coffee from the pot on the table while she also topped off hers and Fury’s.  “Consider us even.”  She pushed the cup across to him.  “Here.  Drink this and you will feel better.  The sleeping formula that we use is leaps and bounds above the basic medical grade stuff that your doctor friend carried in his bag, so you will feel more like yourself in just a few minutes.  The only reason the effects were so strong last night was because you fought so hard against it.”

To his surprise, Sherlock soon realized that she was telling the truth…and that the restful night’s sleep had actually agreed with him...so much so, in fact, that he did not even feel any anger towards her…just gentle amusement.

“So…do you always drug your men before you sleep with them?” he asked with his usual deadpan calm.

“Only when they have something I want,” she echoed his answer from the previous morning with a smirk.  Despite himself, Sherlock could not help but laugh...and even their host snorted in amusement.

* * *

 After their simple breakfast, Fury packed a bag while he grumbled that it was good thing that it was time for him to move on anyway.  Then he switched out his eyepatch for a pair of sunglasses before they climbed into the rental car and drove it even further into the countryside.  After checking the GPS coordinates several times to make sure that they were in the right spot, Natasha stopped in the middle of nowhere.  She then turned to Sherlock.  “Have you ever seen a quinjet before?” she asked him as they all exited the car just as a deep hum filled the air.  At Sherlock’s perplexed look, she pointed upwards.

“I thought you said that this was an unofficial mission?" he asked.  He did not want to admit that he was completely taken by surprise by the unusual aircraft that appeared out of the cloud cover…and actually hovered…in the sky above them before it set down gracefully in the adjacent field and folded its wings.  He then reprimanded himself for continuing to be astonished by anything that had to do with this woman - especially since he had the feeling that it was going to be a neverending situation for him if they continued their acquaintance...and that was something that he suddenly realized that he wanted very much to do.

“It is," Natasha answered his question.  "However, we still have some unofficial old friends, from a now unofficial organization with a few unofficial leftover toys, who were willing to help us out with transport.”  Then she laughed at the look on his face, before her demeanor changed and her eyes softened. “Why don’t you come with me, Sherlock?" she asked quietly as she reached out to grasp his hand with her own.  "Just come for a visit and we can arrange for you to catch a ride back whenever you want.  We can stop by the farm to deliver Fury, and then head on to New York City, if you like.  It  _is_  a city of crime, you know, so you should feel right at home there.  Plus, it would give us a chance to…well...get to know each other better.  If it works out, I promise you that life will definitely never be boring again.  If not…well…” She paused to squeeze his hand gently before she dropped it.

“We’ll always have Kazakhstan,” Sherlock finished the sentence for her and Natasha laughed again…a delightfully deep, full-of-humor, honest-to-goodness laugh. He found the sound of it to be very intriguing, much like the woman herself.  In fact, he already knew that he was more interested in her than in any other woman that he had ever known, including The Woman - and that was certainly saying something! He thought about what she was asking of him...to climb voluntarily into the Black Widow's web....and he had to admit that he found the idea of such a new kind of adventure to be very exciting...in more ways than one!  He also knew that his brother would be extremely unhappy with him if he went through with the crazy plan.  However, the thought of Mycroft's discomfiture when he finally realized what his younger brother had done...and with whom...just made the moment all the sweeter when he followed Natasha up the ramp of the quinjet...and deeper into the web...without looking back. 


End file.
